


Musicals and Memories

by Mouse9



Series: Tales from Baker Street [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: DO NOT COPY, Gen, Memories, Musicals, The Past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:49:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23809417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mouse9/pseuds/Mouse9
Summary: When he was little Sherlock Holmes loved a song.  It was erased following the Musgrave Incident.Now, after Sherrinford, those rewritten memories are finding their way home.
Series: Tales from Baker Street [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1474946
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Musicals and Memories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [impossiblyimprobable](https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblyimprobable/gifts).



> Credited "Modern Major-General" lyrics to Gilbert and Sullivan.   
> This came from a chat between me and impossiblyimprobable which turned into a headcanon toss out which turned into this fic.

“I understand equations, both simple and quadratical,”

Mycroft groaned and rolled over, pulling his pillow over his head. It did no good. He could still hear Sherlock’s lisping childish voice singing about the house almost as if he were marching in front of Mycroft’s bedroom door.

“I’m very good at integral and differential calculus,”

“Go away!” Mycroft shouted from under the cover of his pillow, but again, it didn’t help. If anything, it seemed as if Sherlock’s voice got louder.

“I know the scientific names for beings animalculous,”

He knew his bratty brother was just standing outside his door now, shouting the lyrics to that damnable song. Mummy had taken Sherlock and Victor to the cinema the week before, to see “The Pirates of Penzance”. Between her love of musicals and Sherlock and Victor’s love of pirates, the film was a hit with all, but especially both boys.

Sherlock’s eidetic memory had connected with this song and he sang it nonstop. At first it was amusing, now…

“Sherlock!” Mycroft shouted again. A beat later the sound of a violin playing Mozart at double time and rising to a crescendo. Mycroft groaned loudly, punching his pillow, and deciding to just get up. Between Sherlock’s singing and now Eurus playing her violin, most likely to drown out the song- she didn’t like the fact that Sherlock got to go to the movie and she didn’t, even though she expressed no interest in going- he wasn’t getting any more sleep for today. 

Begrudgingly, Mycroft rose and got dressed quickly because Sherlock was starting the song over again.

“I am the very model of a modern Major-General,”

The words, sung through again, Mycroft could hear the lisp still edging its way back into his speech the faster he sang the song. The violin playing grew louder as Mycroft opened his door.

As expected, Sherlock was standing in front of his door, grinning up. His mop of curly hair covered with a pirate hat and his ever present wooden sword.

“Morning Mycroft,” His r’s were melting into w’s at this point. Trying to look stern, it was hard when you had a small gap-toothed little boy beaming up at you as if you were the sun. Mycroft glared sleepily at Sherlock.

“Mycroft.” He enunciated the R. Sherlock’s smile dimmed a little.

“Mycroft.” The pronunciation was slower and deliberate, correcting the lisp. “Mummy said I was to wake you up for breakfast.”

“Must you wake me up with that horrid song?” He began for the stairs, and after a beat, Sherlock was right behind him.

“It’s not horrid, it’s brilliant.” He insisted, trailing after Mycroft.

“Mmmm,” He didn’t want to argue. It was a stupid song and he had no tolerance for musicals. He was ecstatic that Sherlock seemed perfectly content to watch them, it meant he didn’t have to. “Did you call Eurus down for breakfast as well.”

Sherlock’s smile dimmed even more, and Mycroft only caught the hint of it before his little brother turned away and began swiping at imaginary foes. “Eurus only wants Mummy to call her down. She doesn’t like it when I have to call her down.”

Mycroft thought best to let it lie. It was better if Mummy called her down anyway. She had been acting out more and Mycroft didn’t know how to deal with her outbursts, nor her moods. After the last time he’d caught her playing with Sherlock, he thought it prudent that his brother not be around her alone either.

“Well then, to breakfast.” He was hungry and the smell of sausages was wafting through the house. Immediately Sherlock’s smile had returned.

“Aye, aye, Major-General.” He smartly saluted and skipped ahead, starting the song over again as he headed towards the kitchen, the past lisping words corrected. Mycroft didn’t bother to hide a small smile as he followed. If he brother wanted to consider him the Major-General, he was content to let him.

Months later Victor went missing, Eurus attempted to kill Sherlock and burn down Musgrave. She was taken to the institution and Sherlock changed. The memories were erased, rewritten, and the song forgotten. By the time Sherlock turned seven, gone was the precocious pirate who sang at the top of his lungs to wake his brother. Taking his place was a sullen, quiet boy focused on science and mathematics until he was absorbing everything he could find. Pirate hats and wooden swords were replaced with microscopes and newspaper clippings pinned to his walls. The only thing that remained of the Sherlock before was the violin.

Everything that had been his brother was gone in one short year, leaving Mycroft to feel as if he had lost both of his siblings.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes, the pirate, had made a resurgence after Sherrinford, mostly in the form of playacting with Watson’s offspring, young Rosamund. The two-year-old would screech, wildly waving her plastic sword, often hitting her father in the shin with it.

Mycroft still avoided his brother’s place, if he could help it, but some days, needs must.

It was a Sunday afternoon when Mycroft ascended the steps of Baker Street, under the watchful eye of Mrs. Hudson who stood at the base of the landing, watching him as he climbed. He could hear the faint sounds of his brother’s new composition echoing from open door to the flat.

_Sounds like romance is in the air._ He thought as he stepped through the door of 221B. Sherlock stood in front of the music stand, finishing a vibrato, then penciling a few notes on the paper before him.

“What brings you to my doorstep Mycroft.” The name was spoken with precision, as it always was. “A murder?”

Mycroft crossed the room, coming to a stop just behind the red chair that faces opposite him. “A theft.” He clarified. “A mathematics professor who works with our research and development department recently had a breakthrough on an equation he had been working on for…well, what it is doesn’t matter,”

Sherlock turned, interested, the bow swinging idling at his leg.

“The equation has gone missing. Due to the sensitive nature of the work, it was suggested that you be contacted.”

An eyebrow raised and Sherlock turned to fully face his brother. “They must be desperate if they’re asking for me specifically.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “Not at all, despite your…brash exterior, the home office appreciates your intelligence and attention to detail when it comes to investigations.”

“They didn’t ask you?”

Now he did grin, deadly and cold. “I got the impression they’re a bit nervous around me.”

“Mmm,” Sherlock attention was waning.

“Shall I tell them to expect you tomorrow?”

He watched as those thin shoulders rose then fell. “Why not. Nothing else pressing. Know many cheerful facts about the square of the hypotenuse.”

He had been turning to take his leave when Sherlock’s last words clicked. The next step faltered, and he looked back at his younger brother who now wore a look of confused concentration.

“Strange,” he murmured turning back to his music stand. Mycroft said nothing, waiting to see if anything would come from this new leak of memories. But nothing else happened, save Sherlock glancing at him curiously.

“Was there something else?”

“No.” Straightening, he turned to go. The doctors had said that his memories would continue trickle through, like a crack in a wall. Once Eurus had unplugged the stopper and ejected the most painful ones, the rest were slowly creeping their way to the forefront. Still he shouldn’t hope for too much.

“Until tomorrow brother mine.”

“Laters,”

Mycroft was three steps down when Sherlock began playing again. But instead of the concerto he’d been working on before, it was the upbeat tempo of a tune he hadn’t heard in decades. Sherlock was playing the overture of “Modern Major-General”.

With a genuine smile, one that rare people have ever seen, Mycroft lingered a moment before descending the steps.

Perhaps that trickle would begin letting in the good memories as well.


End file.
